


The Princess and The Guy With A Serious Attitude

by zoe19blink



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-21
Updated: 2016-06-21
Packaged: 2018-07-16 08:35:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7260340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zoe19blink/pseuds/zoe19blink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Teenage!Swanfire at Princess Emma's ball. Baelfire is the son of a lord, apprenticed to the pompous Lieutenant Jones, who is surprised to find a kindred spirit in the sassy, hot-mess-of-a-princess. One-shot, humor, snarkiness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Princess and The Guy With A Serious Attitude

 

 

“Keep a watchful eye out, young Baelfire,” Lieutenant Jones warned him in a low voice. “Royals are even more untrustworthy when they’re all crowded together in one room. The place could be crawling with assassins.”

“Got it,” Bae exhaled, leaning against the wall with folded arms and half-lidded eyes. Jonesy—as Bae called him, for the express purpose of being disrespectful—tended to take things a little too seriously. Everything was either life and death, or “hardly a good use of your time, Baelfire, you disappoint me”. 

It was a ball to honor the princess of Misthaven, on…something that he didn't pay attention to, he hadn't been listening. Maybe it was her birthday? Either way, there were several royal families here, all of them mingling and exchanging gracious words in their ridiculously elaborate gowns and tunics. As such, there was heightened security—or, as Jonesy referred to it, “an excellent learning opportunity!” Baelfire cursed his father yet again, for forcing him into an apprenticeship under the most pompous officer the Royal Navy could muster. 

“And here comes the young princess now,” Jonesy grimaced, looking toward the grand staircase. Baelfire followed his gaze, frowning slightly as his eyes rested on a girl with disheveled blonde hair and an embarrassed sort of smile on her face. She pushed her hair behind her ear with a shaky hand, flickering her eyes around the room at all her subjects and royal peers as she was announced.

“Princess Emma of Misthaven! Heiress to the Throne of Misthaven and Northern Islands! Daughter of King David and Queen Snow…”

Baelfire rolled his eyes, growing bored with the fanfare and grandiose entrance. He couldn't understand for the life of him why royals always made them suffer through these long speeches (most of which consisted of all their middle names). They were the most famous people in the country; he was pretty sure everyone knew who they were.  

“Baelfire!” Jonesy whispered through his teeth. 

“ _What?_ ”

“Pay attention!”

“I _am._ ” (He wasn’t.)

He trailed his gaze around the room, looking at the other young royals. Some of them he knew, some of them were completely unfamiliar: Elsa and Anna of Arrendelle (“dale”? “delle”?), he knew; Phillip of Wherever and Aurora of Someplace-or-Other, he didn’t.

Baelfire shifted onto his other foot, sighing heavily as the announcements continued. Queen Snow was talking now, some nonsense about all the alliances and friendships they held and whatnot… _Dull._ Queen Snow could talk for hours, if you let her, and she often did. God, if only there _was_ an assassin! If nothing else, he could at least put Bae out of his misery. 

“…welcome you all to our land, and thank you.” Queen Snow raised her hands, smiling graciously at her audience. “And now, let the festivities begin!”

“ _Finally,_ ” Bae droned as the music started up and ball gowns began swirling. No more standing on ceremony: he was going to find the buffet and sneak a few crab puffs before Jonesy caught him. He immediately ducked through a dancing couple, effectively hiding from the lieutenant and traveling to the food table at the same time. _Efficiency_ , he nodded, helping himself to a plate. Now that was a good use of his time, indeed.

He grabbed a few crab puffs, a few rolls, and was reaching for a pastry when another hand brushed against his. He looked up, surprised to see Princess Emma, of all people, standing beside him.

He should have done something—bowed, nodded his head, said, _“Good Evening, Highness”—_ but in fifteen years, Bae had yet to make the transition from “should have done” to “actively doing”. So, naturally, he just stared—keeping his hand safely on the pastry.

The princess raised her eyebrows: evidently, she’d been expecting him to do something, too; relinquish the pastry, if nothing else. When a full minute had gone by and he still hadn't managed any amount of propriety, she cleared her throat. “Great party, right?” she said, gesturing around the ballroom. “God, I can’t believe all these people are here for _me._ It’s a little overwhelming.”

Bae blinked, giving his head a little shake as he came to his senses. It was…well, not a graceful way, but a polite way of reminding him that she was his better and, in fact, _the princess,_ so he really better do something respectful, quick.

“Uh—yeah,” he stammered. “I mean, yes, Your Highness.”

“Oh, you _do_ speak. I was afraid you were a mute.” Princess Emma smiled, then looked meaningfully toward the pastry they were both still holding. “So…”

Bae frowned. He knew, the proper thing to do was to let go and bow out gracefully; the proper thing to do was to step aside and wish her a happy birthday or whatever they were celebrating; the proper thing to do was to give her the damn pastry and move on with his life. And yet, he also knew, he wasn't going to do any of those things. 

“So, great party,” he agreed, snatching up the pastry and taking a bite. “Catering is fantastic, I love the little tarts with the pink stuff.”

Princess Emma opened her mouth slightly, watching him with a mixture of bewilderment and intrigue. “I’m—I’m sorry, did you just…?” She pointed to the pastry as her words failed her: apparently _demoralized_ that he would have the gall to eat that particular pastry.

“Oh.” Bae feigned surprise, looking at the half-eaten pastry in his hand. “I’m sorry, were you going to eat this?”

“That was the plan,” Princess Emma frowned, slowly lowering her hand. 

“Mmm—“ Bae clicked his teeth sympathetically. “Too bad, I got it first.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Excuse me?”

“Well, I’m sorry, Princess, but I _did_ have it first,” he pointed out. “I clearly had my hand on it before you, there was a gap of at least three full seconds before your hand was even in the vicinity. Therefore, I have a better claim to the pastry than you.”

“Social protocol dictates, that a man forfeits pastry rights to a lady, particularly when said lady is above him in rank,” she argued. “And that three-second gap renders intent-to-eat null and void. _I_ had claim to that pastry, you already forfeited yours.”

“Are you accusing me of unlawful noshing?” Bae demanded. 

Princess Emma lifted her chin, narrowing a pair of shrewd green eyes at him. “I am.”

Had Bae’s father not been the richest lord in the kingdom, as well as the most respected and educated ambassador to several countries, he might have been intimidated by the regal stare and the commanding tone, even in this scrawny little princess. But Bae was far too familiar with royals, and far too aware of his father’s influence, for her to have much of an effect on him.

“I object,” he said, and took another deliberate bite. It seemed stupid to stand there with half a bite left in his hand, so he just finished it off and brushed his fingers together. Princess Emma stared at him for a minute, openmouthed. 

“Are you for _real?_ ” she asked finally. “Who _are_ you?”

“Baelfire,” he said promptly. “My father is Lord Rumplestiltskin of Raemor, and I’m currently apprenticed under Jonesy—I mean, Lieutenant Jones of the Royal Navy.”

“Wait…” She raised her finger to point at him, a disbelieving look in her eyes. “You’re apprenticed under… _Lieutenant Jones?”_

“That’s right.”

“As in—“ she broke into a smile—“as in Lieutenant Killian Jones? _That_ guy?”

Bae looked over his shoulder to follow her pointing finger: good old Jonesy, standing stiffly near the corner, keeping a paranoid watch over the ballroom. “Yeah, that’s him,” he said, turning back. “Why?”

“No, I—“ Princess Emma put the back of her hand to her mouth, squeezing her eyes shut as she fought a laugh. “Sorry,  I, uh—I know the lieutenant.”

“Oh, do you?” Baelfire raised his eyebrows. “How?”

“He’s, uh…” She bit on her bottom lip to control her smile. “He takes his job very seriously. And that lends one the opportunity to—mmm, how shall I say this?” she asked the ceiling, shifting her hands with an invisible weight. “ _Mess with him._ ”

“Oh, really?” Bae said, interest piqued. “Share.”

“Okay, so—“ Princess Emma glanced around conspiratorially, then leaned in, lowering her voice—“you know my godmother, Lady Red?”

Bae blinked, suddenly aware of her proximity. This close, he could see that she had a light smattering of freckles across her nose—something that was oddly fascinating. He blinked again, giving his head a little shake. “Sorry, what?”

“I’m, like, ninety percent sure he’s into her, because he always get all weird and flustered when they bump into each other.  And here’s a fun fact for you: the lieutenant is very easily embarrassed.” A mischievous smile crossed her lips. “I’ve taken advantage of this little personality quirk from time to time.”

“Oh, yeah?” Bae grinned, liking her more by the minute.

“Sometimes, he mysteriously trips over a mysterious boot, and smashes right into her; other times, the young princess—“ she bowed her head, indicating herself with mock respect—“runs off, and he has to chase her through a very muddy, tree-branchy area that somehow _always_ ends up in the exact field where Lady Red is taking her morning stroll. And still other times…” She let out a little sigh, shaking her head in regret. “Tadpoles find their way down his collar, garden snakes in his boots—a goldfish in his morning coffee, once.”

“Gross,” Bae said, wrinkling his nose. “Did he swallow it?”

“Spat it out, right in her face,” Princess Emma said cheerfully. “I’m surprised we didn't find him on a ledge, after that.”

“Did he know it was you?”

“I certainly hope so.” She tapped her lips thoughtfully, raising her eyes as she searched her memory. “Let’s see, what else have I done?”

Her stories were inspiring: she had dedicated her soul to the task of making Jonesy’s life a living hell, and Bae admired her for it. The princess certainly kept the lieutenant on his toes: shouting lewd jokes in echoey rooms; singing rude lyrics at the top of her lungs with him chasing her down the hall; various pests and vermin making their way into the palace and, inevitably, his jacket. Bae thought he’d done a good job, pestering Jonesy with annoying questions and being purposely difficult and uncooperative, but clearly, he was an amateur.

Somehow, during the exchange, they’d moved from the tables to one of the corners, balancing their plates on their knee, laughing over how lame and pathetic Jonesy was. The pastry incident was long-forgotten by the time Bae got around to suggesting some rather clever lyrics for her songs. They were hard at work, scribbling down various rhyming schemes for their favorite rude words, when Jonesy found them,

“Baelfire!” he admonished severely. “I’ve been looking for you all night!”

“Yeah?” Bae raised his eyebrows. “You really should have been looking for assassins. Some paranoid guy told me the place could be crawling with them.”

Jonesy narrowed his eyes. “I’ve just about had it with you, young man,” he said. “Get up and stop bothering the guests, or I’ll tell your father about your behavior.”

“Really, Jones?” the princess scoffed. “You’re going to tell on him? What are you, twelve?”

Jonesy turned a strange shade of purple, his gaze falling on Princess Emma with a sort of horrified realization. “Your Highness…”

“Lieutenant.” She grinned, an evil pleasure flickering in her eyes. “I hope you’re having as lovely a time as Baelfire and I are having.”

“Baelfire?” Jonesy looked fearfully between the two of them. “Oh, God…you’re _friends?_ You two—together—?”

“He’s a very good writer,” the princess went on, glancing over her notes. “And lyricist. You should introduce him to the Master of Music; I’ve no doubt he could make some interesting renditions for the next festival.”

Bae choked on his tart, coughing into his fist to hide his smile. 

“I should get back to my party,” Princess Emma said, grasping the end of her skirts with her free hand as she stood up. “My parents will be humiliated if I don’t at least pretend to socialize with the others.”

“Right,” Bae said, trying not to feel too disappointed. “‘Course.”

She turned to Jonesy with a malicious smile. “Lieutenant: a _pleasure,_ as always.”

Bae grinned as his master paled and clenched his jaw, trying to maintain his composure. 

“Baelfire, you turned out to be surprisingly awesome. And these—” Princess Emma waved the notes at him—“will be put to great use, I promise you.” 

“Good,” he nodded. “Glad I could be of service, Princess.”

He smiled as she turned around and headed into the crowd of important people, feeling Jonesy’s furious gaze on him. “You can stop glaring at me,” he said, not taking his eyes off the princess’s bobbing blonde head. “I’m not ashamed. I have a gift for music, the princess herself—“

“Baelfire, this is _so_ inappropriate!” Jonesy hissed, grabbing his elbow.

“ _Ow!_ God, what? What?”

“Fraternizing with Her Highness like this!” he went on in a furious whisper. “How dare you! She’s _royalty!_ And my life is already hell, why do you have to go and make friends with the Devil?”

“Because she’s cute?” Bae shrugged. 

“Baelfire!”

“In a royal sort of way,” Bae said, waving his hand patronizingly. 

“This is _not_ funny, young man!”

“I disagree.”

“You—!” Jonesy's eyes widened. “ _Why,_ Baelfire? Why must you torment me like this? Is it too much to ask, that you simply behave as your station permits? You are the son of a _lord,_ young sir: high birth begs a certain amount of dignity and grace!”

“I’m merely following the example of my future queen,” Baelfire objected, mockingly affronted. “And you accuse me of _mischief?_ You insult me, Jones!”

Jonesy exhaled slowly, his muscles visibly tensing. “I don’t have the patience to deal with you right now,” he muttered. “I’m going to run a patrol, you just…try to stay out of trouble.”

Bae shrugged, putting his hands in his pockets as Jonesy left; and drifted around aimlessly. People were dancing, fluttering skirts and ruffles; _charmed_ smiles and gracious nods were exchanged; everyone speaking in low voices and politely amused murmurs. He skimmed the room, not realizing he was looking for the princess until he found her: listening to a dark-haired boy, looking thoroughly bored and not bothering to hide it.

“Yep,” he could hear her say. “That’s really something.”

“I do love sailing, though,” he went. “The sea…it’s in my blood.”

“Pretty sure that’s hemoglobin you’re thinking of, Eric,” she exhaled.

Bae snorted; the two royals turned, both with raised eyebrows—though where Emma looked amused, Eric looked appalled.

“I’m sorry, can I help you?” he sputtered. 

“Oh—“ Bae batted a hand, shrugging—“I was just eavesdropping, don’t worry. Thanks, though.”

Eric turned, presumably to exchange a look with Emma, but she was already moving past him, grinning at Baelfire.

“Hi,” she said. “You following me now?”

“Maybe,” he said, mouth quirked up in a little smirk. “I got bored.”

“Yeah, me, too.” Emma’s eyes moved around the room behind him, apparently checking for something. “Your lieutenant still keeping an eye on you?”

“Nope. Ditched me because I’m disgracing my high birth.”

“Interesting.” She looked back at him, a sparkle of malice in her eyes. “You want to get into trouble, give him gray hair?”

Bae grinned. “Oh, hell, yes.”


End file.
